A driving lesson

Jessica just turned 15.

That means, of course, she is ready to learn how to drive... and boy is she ready.

She has been ready since she was two.

Of course, her wanting to drive immediately prompted Jason to ask to drive again. He hasn't driven since he got his restricted license eight months after his 15th birthday. He just hasn't had any interest.

So I took him out for a lesson yesterday. He started out great, remembering the clutch/gas feel from all those months ago, and we were off. We headed down my street toward the park. At the stop sign he had to either turn right or left. Straight meant running through a fence and into a tree.

He opted for left and proceeded into action. As he released the clutch, he floored the gas faster than he was turning the steering wheel and, as you can imagine, my heart stayed back at the stop sign.

SLOW DOWN!!!... STOP THE GAS!!!... BRAKE!!!

I can't remember what I yelled but I yelled and he made the turn just shy of totaling my car.

We continued down that road and, after getting an earful of advice, he turned left at the next road up. We travelled up that road with no problems until another car appeared. I could see panic sweeping over his face. To compensate for the approaching car, Jason began to inch the car toward the right side of the road. After a few "inches," however, I couldn't help notice how close we were to hitting mail boxes and such, so I told him to move over.

move over.... Jason, Move Over... MOVE OVER!!!

The car made it past us but the recycle bin on my right didn't.

I got out of the car and walked to the recycle bin. As I lifted it back up to a standing position thanking GOD no one saw the incident, I looked up to see a teenage girl staring at me from the porch and asking me if the can was okay.

I told her it wasn't dented, that it was okay, and explained that my son was a new driver.

She laughed and said, that's okay... "when my younger sister began driving she took out a mailbox on the street over," pointing to the street just behind her.

As I listened, I remembered an incident several years earlier when I lived on that 'street over' and had come home from work to find my mailbox in three million pieces. And I remembered the young girl who was so upset and was literally shoving money in my face to replace it and I said...

...that was me.

Ironic. Don't ya think?